The Tiger and the Prince, Part 2

Pannalal waited in the Throne room anxiously. It had been a month since his father's death, and Chali had been in the depths of mourning. People had openly wept in the streets, shops had been closed, ashes and sackcloth donned. White funeral bunting and tapestries had been hung everywhere, and Pannalal himself wore a fine white robe and thobe-prayer hat. He had preformed all the necessary rites and rituals to consecrate and mourn his father's passing, burning incense and wrapping his father's portly body in the finest spider-silk, before placing the body gently on the great funeral raft, sending him to drift towards the Ocean along the Great Naj, mightiest of Rivers and source of all life in that land.  But the anxiety in his belly was not from grief or remembrance, but from the imminent return of the Rakshasa. So he paced in the Throne room, the water clock's gentle dripping indicating that the hour was nearing. One month exactly since his father's heart-attack.

She had promised to bring great wealth to Chali, to fulfill his father's dream. She had spoken also of a terrible price he would pay. Surely that price had been his father's death. Hadn't it? Yet the butterflies in his stomach refused to be quieted.

Just as he was about to give up waiting, the air suddenly grew chill in the Throne Room. His Advisors and guards murmured, backing away in fear, as a green smoke drifted through the high windows, snaking its way down to the great, empty Jet Throne where the Sultan had held court. The smoke coalesced into a single form, that of the Rakshasa, a regal tigress six foot tall, a simple brassiere of purple and crimson silks upholding a very human pair of breasts, and a single gauzy loincloth dangling between her powerfully muscled legs, concealing her sex. She cricked her powerful neck, her tiger-head seeming awkward on such broad shoulders, as she regarded the room with her cold emerald orbs. She unfurled her backwards-facing hands, and bowed formally, mockingly, to Pannalal and his court.

"One month has passed. I have already begun my end of the bargain. The main obstacle to Chali's wealth has been removed. Soon your treasuries will fill again, and the trade roads bustle with traffic." She spoke powerfully, with an undercurrent of sarcasm and disdain for those she treated with. Her voice filled the whole room, feminine yet unquestionable in its authority.

Pannalal curled his lip, finding her words stabbing directly at his heart. She all but admitted to murdering his father! But if she considered that -her- end of the bargain, then...what was his?

"We shall see soon enough if wealth returns, monster. What price do you demand of us for your...service?" He spoke boldly, anger and grief giving him confidence in dealing with this creature, despite a lifetime of deference to his father and sneers from women, disdainful of his feminine build and appearance.

The Tigress looked at him directly, a gaze powerful and full of meaning. She purred low, deep in her throat as she spoke, her tail swishing back and forth behind her.

"I desire to be Saranjamdar of this city."

There was immediate uproar. Guards rattled their spears, advisors shouted and pointed and made dire threats. Pannalal simply stood there stunned, overwhelmed by the boldness of the Rakshasa's statement. He noted she had used the masculine title, Saranjamdar, and not the feminine version, Samajamdar. Alone of those in the hall, Pannalal began to grasp some of her fiendish designs, and it made his blood ran cold.

"SILENCE!" She roared, a powerful roar filling the hall, and quietening them. Claws extended from her deformed hands, long and razor-sharp. "I can kill everyone in this room, if I so choose. But a Bargain was made, and my freedom was obtained. I demand my price be met, or you will all suffer the terrible consequences." She growled. Her tail stopped, like a pendulum halted.

"My Prince, this is absolute lunacy, only one of the royal house can rule in Chali-" His advisors clamoured to him, though clearly wary of the creature before them. Pannalal regarded her with fear mixed with...stranger emotions. Wondering at her power and influence. Wondering, indeed, why such a creature would desire something as trivial as rulership of Chali.

"That is not the only way one could come to rule. You know the laws as well as I do, Vizier." Pannalal said, his voice almost a whisper, forcing them to strain to hear his words. A marked contrast to the loud Rakshasa, who oozed power even when she was silent. All knew their Prince was too feminine, too quiet and retreating, to have the strength to best the creature in any contest.

"She...desires to marry me. With me as her...lesser consort."He ground his teeth, finding the words bitter indeed to speak. The idea of marrying such a bizarre creature was...absurd, to him. How could a man marry a Tiger, any more than he could marry his Horse or the Moon?

The Rakshasa drew back her fangs, as if sensing his thoughts, and the stunned objections of the court.
"I am willing to settle for so poor a specimen, despite the indignity it does to me. Since I will be ruler of the City, I will also take many concubines, since I doubt your Prince has the strength to satisfy me."She spoke with rich, dark humour, her long feline tongue licking her jaws.

The court was appalled, regarding the creature in their midst as totally mad.

The Prince simply regarded her with a dry smirk. "And how do humans satisfy a Tigress?"
A vizier also chimed in. "Indeed. Would there be any issue of such a union? Noone who does not carry the blood of Chali, or has the potential to sire more for that bloodline, may sit in the Jet Throne." The court nodded their heads in agreement.

The Tigress said nothing, but simply raised her hands, and she began to roar. A powerful, low, feline roar that echoed through the chamber, vibrating the glass and crystalwear set around the place, and causing much of the Court to gasp and shrink in fear. But even as she roared, the Rakshasa began to change, her head contorting with loud snaps, as bones rearranged and flesh ran like putty. Her hands danced wildly in the air, as fur receded into dark, olive skin, and her muzzle receded into a beautiful, angular, human face.

By the time the echoes of her roaring had died down, A powerful, amazonian, but very human woman stood before them, her once tight-fitting garments now hanging somewhat loose, revealing a shapely bosom and a taut, moulded stomach and shapely hips. A long mane of tiger-striped hair, orange and black, ran from her head down her back to her mid-riff, parted only by two peaked Tiger-ears. She smiled at them, revealing pearly-white teeth and tiny fangs. In all other ways, save her backward-facing hands, she resembled the most beautiful human woman that any of them had ever seen.

"I believe that anwsers both your questions." She spoke again, her voice still deep and rumbling. "I can bare whatever pitiful seed is needed. But I -will- be the ruler, not the consort. That is my price. In return, your city will become the wealthiest there has ever been, and none will dare challenge her."

The court murmured amongst themselves, whilst Pannalal simply regarded this strange, buxom woman before him, unbidden feelings stirring within him. He felt as if he knew this powerful, demur, yet still unquestionably masculine woman was someone he had met before, or should know in another way. Yet the Rakshasa's human form was as alien to him as her Tigress form, and he wondered what would occur.

"As Prince and sole Heir of the city, the final decision is of course naturally yours, my Jamdar." The vizier finally spoke, unctious as always. "However, the City does have considerable debts...not to mention funeral expenses, years of taxes in arrears, droughts, poor harvests, bandits..." he mumbled. "If this...creature can indeed make the city wealthy, I am sure all in the City will shower you with gratitude and love, and no expense will be spared to..alleviate any discomfort you might have."

The Rakshasa snarled at them, but she waited, patient, unmoving from the steps below the Jet Throne.

"And if we do not agree to this bargain?" He found strength in his voice to ask this much, though compared to her booming voice he still sounded quiet and meek.

"Then Chali will vanish into the sands, a forgotten story told by old men to frighten children." She said, almost bored, no doubt or uncertainty in her.

Pannalal gulped. All his life he had striven hard to earn the praise and respect of his father, without success. It was such an ingrained habit, that the idea of acting otheriwse- to seek the approval of others- did not occur to him. He would save the City, and earn their praise and gratitude, and try to fulfill his father's dying wish.

"I will marry you, Rakshasa. Though I do not know your name."

"You may call me Saranjamdar, Master, Mistress, or Rakh. My Name is for no man's lips." She commanded. "So? You will marry me? Good. I demand the wedding occur as soon as possible. Tonight, even. Let the funeral feast also serve as a wedding feast. I assure you, you will find your larders adequately full. Make merry. Tonight, I will claim my price." She smiled cruelly, and her line of sight settled on Pannalal, but he knew it was not his eyes that she stared at. He blushed, wondering what strange and sordid activities she had in mind. He was still a pure virgin, though noone would dare question the Rakshasa's. Virgin or not, it seemed she would get her wish here.

"As you wish. Let it be so." Pannalal whispered, lowering his head, feeling defeated. The court murmured amongst themselves, but despite their feeble voicings of concerns and doubts, the mood was of relief. Noone wanted to fight one of the Asuras, or risk the wrath of the Heavens by failing to meet a bargain.

The Rakhshasa moved her hands once more, and returned to her green smoke form, whisping back the way she had came, to wherever it was she waited.

Soon the whole Court was a bustle of activity. Pannalal stood alone in the Throne Room, completely downcast, regarding the Jet Throne with trepidation. He had lost his father, and now he had lost the right to sit in the Jet Throne. The chair, and the power within Chali, belonged to her now.

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The Wedding Banquet of Pannalal, Jamdar of Chali, was a magnificient affair, for all that it was hastily assembled. It had been intended as the final Funeral feast for the deceased Saranjamdar of Chali, and much of the preperations had simply been a scramble to replace white funeral drapes with orange and saffron, the colours of joy, festivity and rebirth.  Pannalal had refused to don robes of saffron however, instead choosing to go to the Banquet, and the Wedding that was to come, dressed in the finest silk robes of white. Thus began the tradition that holds still in some lands, for the Groom to wear robes of finest white when he marries, representing the death of the old way, and the beginning of the new, for better or worse.

The tables were laden with fruits, finely salted meats, steaming plates of Kuri, exotically spiced, and everywhere were silver decanters and crystal goblets, sloshing over the brim with red wine. In one day the Court sought to slake the thirst denied to them for a month of mourning. Perhaps also, the Courtiers sought to numb the new reality that was fast approaching, to drown their trepidation and unease about who- or rather, what- now sought to rule over them.

Pannalal sat at the head of the Banquet, an empty chair beside him, the Bride absent. Pannalal sat rigid, unmoving, his gut churning with anxiety, uncertain what fate would bring him now. He had no idea what he was going to do, or what he could do. All that consumed him was passivity and worry, and so events proceeded without much input from him. Despite his excellence in combat and with scholarly lore, neither seemed like they could prevail against one of the Asura. In truth, he felt paralysed, for all his life there had been his father, a clear objective. Now he was lost, cut adrift, and this new creature seemed poised to take up the slack without him. All he could do was wait, and see what Fate would provide.

So it was that the party reached its inevitable climax, as water clocks poured out their hours, and the candles guttered to their lowest tallow, and there was as yet no sign of the Bride. Pannalal sat rigid, consumed by his thoughts, even as the rest of the Court drank itself into a stupor, the snake charmers, the belly dancers, the fire-eaters, the sword-jugglers, the sexual acrobats all dancing, writhing, preforming their respective arts in a mad chaos of festivity, merriment all the more intense, for the unease and uncertainty about what tomorrow would bring.

Just as Midnight approached, there was a sudden wind, extinguishing all the candles in the hall, and a pall of silence fell across the party, revelry fading and stopping wherever it was. Wine was sloshed mid-pour, and even the more excited revelry stopped, mid-thrust, as all heads turned to the great doors that led into the Banquet Hall.

The Doors were flung open with a bang, their mighty brass hinges squealing in protest, as a Wind more powerful than any natural force forced them open, and there stood the woman, in a dress that was jade and serpentine green, her long tiger-striped hair in braids down her long, muscular back, which was exposed, revealing her powerful shoulders and soft, coffee-like skin. She wore no sandals, however, and simply padded silently, but commandingly, up the aisle towards the main tables. Noone dared interfere, and all eyes were fixated on the spectacle before them.

Despite the danger and the unease, many men were openly lustful of this fey bride, and those who had been enjoying revelry with their partners earlier resumed their proclivities, their lusts enflamed by the sight of this powerful, commanding beauty.

The woman who would be Saranjamdar stood before Pannalal, her gaze piercing him once again, and he flushed, feeling her search him more deeply than even the most intimate of courtesans ever would. She regarded the courtiers either side of him with a dismissive glance, and seemed intently focused on him alone.

"Rise for me." She commanded, simply, her voice full of authority, no possibility of doubt within it.
Pannalal, and those beside him, did so.
"Now, kneel."
Without hesitation, Pannalal, and the courtiers around him, pushed back their stools and cushions, and knelt before the Rakhshasa woman.

She curled her lips in distaste, a hint of a growl now entering her voice.
"Noone who would command so many could possibly kneel so quickly. Where is the real Jamdar, hmm? Where is the real ruler here?"

Pannalal's cheeks burned with shame, her mocking words echoing through the hall, only the muffled sound of courtiers and entertainers rutting in the distance breaking the silence. The noise provided an odd counterpoint to this display of humility, as the Rakhshasa took control of her new court.

With obvious boredom and disdain, she swept to the side of the still-kneeling Prince, before seating herself with perfect grace on the chair meant for the groom. "You are not the husband here, Pannalal." She said, with some amusement. "Sit on the Bride-cushion beside me."

He stuttered, feeling bile rising in his stomach, but he held his tongue, and endured this indignity. It was only a cushion, and he would rather wait, and observe, than act or react to provocations like this.

Rakh waved airily. "Continue. Let the Wedding Banquet proceed. I would be wed as soon as possible, and take my place." There was some disgruntlement amongst the Court at her words, for even then it was traditional to have the wedding first and the banquet after, but they had been in revelry for some hours, and to comment on the unorthodoxy now would be hypocritical. But her words reminded them that she was utterly in charge, and no amount of distraction could hide that.

The rest of the Banquet proceeded reluctantly, but the rakhshasa's appearance cast a long shadow, and it became a quiet, somber affair, as fearful glances were shot towards the woman who sat in the King's place.

As the revellers departed, and the rays of dawn broke on the palace, the woman who had taken the name Rakh rose carefully from her seat. She had sat there, unmoving, for hours, and had barely said anything, and had consumed nothing. Her repose had fascinated Pannalal, who had taken the time to study her.  She was without any flaw he could see, a tall, powerful, warrior-like woman, with long hair, fierce eyes, a strong jaw, and perfect, white teeth, and long fangs. Her bust, though concealed well in her dress, appeared to be buxom indeed, and her strong back more than supported it. Her hands, though smooth and without callus, were larger and stronger than his, and her long, sharp fingernails reminded him strongly of the claws her other form no doubt had.

Yet though when he closed his eyes he could imagine the powerful Tigress-woman before him, it became increasingly difficult to remind his body of this earlier reality. For she was a woman, and her scent, though powerfully animal, only further aroused him, and intrigued him as to the true nature of his erstwhile Bride.

He followed her as she left the Banquet Hall, effortlessly gliding around those revellers who had simply fallen asleep where they lay, and past the guards, who did not dare challenge her or her right to command here. In all but name she was already Saranjamdar. Pannalal followed, his anxiety and fear matched now by his curiosity and growing arousal. If this woman was truly to be his partner for the rest of his life, he could not complain about her physiciality, at least.

She entered the bedchambers, which one month before had been where she had first appeared, and where Pannalal's father had died of his heart attack. He shuddered, feeling cold and afraid. The bed was much as it had been left, sheets and curtains flung about, pillows and soft carpets adorning the floors. The Rakhshasa seemed blithe to the significance this room might have to Pannalal, who stood in the doorway, his sight fixated on that spot, his mind flashing back to that strange and terrible day.

She flung herself onto the Sultan's bed without much care, sighing, the first sign that she was fatigued, or could even feel fatigue. She sat up, yawning, and regarded her would-be husband carefully, flicking back her long braids with a jerk of her neck. "Well, are you coming to bed or not?" She barked.

He blinked, looking at her incredulously. "But...the ceremony..."

"We have had the Feast first. Who cares what order things are done in, so long as they are done?" She sighed. "I am Saranjamdar now, boy. A little paper isnt going to change that." She pointed to the wide space beside her on the bed. "Now, come and lie with me."

Swallowing nervously, he took off his shoes and part of his robes, untill he was wearing only his salwar kameez, light and airy harem pants that were white in colour.

She assessed his body, tracing every curve and line of his chest and arms, her gaze lingering for some time on his growing bulge. "Well, take the rest off."

He blinked, blushing, hesitating. "I...uh..."

"I order you to kneel in front of your whole court and you do it without thought, but showing yourself to a beautiful woman and you hesitate?" She grinned cruelly. "What kind of Prince are you? Princess, surely." She laughed, a high-pitched, mocking sound, aristocratic and entirely derisive.

"Strip. Now."

He obeyed, slowly removing his harem pants with trembling hands. Something about her power, her presence, about the situation completely overwhelmed him, though he had never been someone with much power anyway. He stood before her, naked, his face crimson, as he reluctantly took his hands away, exposing his small, almost feminine organ.

She laughed again. "That? That is what I am supposed to...Surely not even a pathetic city like this is worth -that- little." She beckoned him forward. "Well, lets see what you can do with -that-. Come forward, princess." She mocked.

Feeling himself burn with shame, he shambled forward, till he was clambering up on his hands and knees towards the Rakshasa woman. She purred, satisfied. "Good. Now, make yourself hard."

He flushed again at the directness of her command. "Could you uh, strip-" He managed to ask.
She slapped him full on the face, open-handed, a stinging, red mark left on his cheek. He simply stared at her in shock.
"Obey me when I give you an order. No questions. I am in charge here, not you, princess." she growled.

Stammering, he tried to rouse himself for her, but he was full of fear and embarassment, and had never preformed like this before for anyone. He was still a virgin in every way, and after a few minutes of feebly tugging at himself, the tiger queen simply growled in disgust.

"Pathetic. It seems I must do more If I want to get anything out of this bargain." She reached forward, her strong, powerful hand roughly grabbing his shaft, beginning to stroke him more vigorously. She leaned forward, her cleavage fully in his face, her gaze full of cruelty and power as she jerked him.

He gasped, pain shooting through him as she grabbed him. "Please, stop, that hurts." He begged. She slapped him again, hard, on the other cheek.

"If you cannot stand this how ever are you going to satisfy me?" She growled.

He looked at her, tears coming to his eyes. But she grinned, and spoke a word, and to his amazement he found his flagging ardour returning, even as pain continued to shoot through his abused groin.

"I will get good value from my bargain." She said, smirking. Once he was fully erect, she leaned back, her hand abruptly releasing his member, and she laid back against the headboard, spreading her shapely legs and pulling her dress up all the way, revealing her nude sex, tiger-striped hair and fur surrounding her dark slit.

"Now, pleasure me." She commanded.

He awkwardly clambered forward, leaning in against her, his breath on her neck, his hands awkwardly hovering, unsure what he could or couldnt touch. She sighed, and took his hands, placing them on her firm breasts, which felt full and ripe even through the fabric of her dress.

She growled angrily at his fumbling, clumsy efforts to penetrate her. "Can you not even put your sword in a sheathe? You are pathetic. Perhaps I ought to make you a princess in more than name."

He gulped, but, finally, he managed to slide his throbbing manhood inside of her, though her tightness was overwhelming, and the pain on his head was too intense, forcing him to pull out quickly.

She growled at him. "If you hurt me one more time, boy, I will rend you flesh from bone." Her voice held a clear edge of menace.

Gulping, he tried to calm himself, focus on the problem at hand. It was not too different a problem from any other in his life, he realised. He had an objective- satisfy this woman- and all the tools needed to do it at hand. His heart pounding from fear, he settled at last on a course of action, the first iniatitive he had shown since he had struck those accursed gems with the crystal hammer.

He got down low, and tentatively slipped his fingers inside the warm, fuzzy folds of the woman, bracing himself for a slap or worse. Instead she purred appreciatively, and he took this as a sign to continue. Slowly, he began to tease her sex, running his fingers around her labia, probing gently within, feeling her warm fluids and stickyness. Her musk wafted upwards, striking him as particularly potent and animalistic, but it only made him more aroused, for all that it was pungent.

She regarded him keenly, allowing a small, satisfied smile to spread across her lips. "Good. you're learning." She grabbed his head, pushing him down. "Now, use your tongue, little princess." She smirked.

Her musk was overwhelming, and he baulked, but he felt her fingers tighten around his skull, her nails raking through his thick, feminine hair, pressing down on him. He forced his face against her pussy, and began to tentatively lick the outside of her, the rough hairs around her labia itchy and cloying with the scent of her. It was almost nauseating, but he licked deeper, probing into her cunt, lapping at her like an animal himself, feeling her nectar slowly and stickly trickle down his tongue, choking on the overpowering musk.

"Dont you dare stop." She hissed, and he complied, fighting his gag reflex as he continued to lick her, his tongue slithering deeper and deeper, past her hairy folds and into her moist honeypot. He rolled his tongue around her clitoris, darting in and out, some instinct or natural ability allowing him to tantalise and tease her still further. She began to shiver under his ministrations, and he began to hope that perhaps he might yet satisfy this woman...this..queen.

"Good...good..keep going..."she purred, her mound now slick with her fluids. His meekness fading, he began to eat her more enthusiastically, diving nose-first into her long pussy, his mouth now fully open, drinking in her gushing stream.

She moaned, and as she began to climax, her body began to vibrate violently, as she shifted and morphed around him, hairs and furs sprouting as she shook into her tigress form, her dress ripping and shredding as her body expanded, her scent becoming even more pungent and feral. He fell back, a little terrified, and regarded the orgasming, changing woman with renewed fear.

She sighed, her tiger ears twitching, her mostly-nude body spread out before him. Now seven feet tall and even more powerfully muscled, her new body was much the same as her old one, only larger, more powerful, and covered in orange-black-white striped tiger fur. Her glistening pussy still oozed the same juices, and her powerful furred breasts still rose and fell, at least two sizes bigger now, easily the size of cantaloupes or catapault stones. Her dark, black nipples jutted upwards, proudly erect, and she growled at him through her new, fanged muzzle, as she beckoned to him with her paws.

"I didn't say stop."

He gulped. It was going to be a very rough night.

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When Pannalal finally awoke, groaning, he felt numb from the waist down, his skin battered and bruised, and a great weal around his neck. He threw the light sheets off of his naked body, and surveyed the damage. He looked across, and noted the sleeping tigress in his bed, a look of catlike satisfaction on her face.

He gingerly rose, and flashes of the exhausting night came back to him. He was lucky to still be in one piece. She had ridden him with great force, nearly dislocating his hip, her powerfully muscled vagina gripping his penis in ways he doubted any human woman could match. Though she had sneered at him and constantly belittled his ability, being ridden by a tigress had finally broken something in him. There was only so much fear and humiliation even one like him could endure.

He began to push back, and to his surprise she seemed to enjoy it. As they had fucked, his balls slapping painfully against her furred sides, her large breasts bouncing wildly, she had begun to make animalistic yowling sounds, and she had clawed savagely at his back, playfully nipping his neck and shoulders as she vibrated once more with orgasm.

The pain of her savagery had been excruciating, but she had continued to ride him without mercy, and he was sure that he would need to sit down to pee for a week as a result. His member was raw to the touch, and she had milked him for every drop of his seed.  He could still see the stains on the bed, and a dried trail of his semen centred around her exposed pussy.

Despite his pain and injury, he could not help but regard the tiger-woman in a new light. She had taken his virginity, and despite her brutality he.. he had enjoyed himself. He was troubled by these thoughts. Perhaps, he hoped, having satisfied her now, she might prove less difficult to manage.

She yawned, her fangs showing, and any lingering lust he felt for her faded. The wound on his neck began to throb. She could easily have bitten his head clean off if she had wanted. His few moments of peace were soon to end, however, as the Rakshasa awoke.

"Well, princess. It is time for this ridiculous marriage ceremony." She yawned and stretched, her tone full of derision. So much for having earned any reprieve. Studying her form, he found himself once again captivated by lithe, catlike agility, so like a tiger yet also so like a woman. He knew she could become a human woman, or at least something close to one, if she so chose, and he wondered if she could also become more fully a tiger as well.  If he was truly to be wed to this creature, he could at least divine some of the ancient mysteries of the Asura, or so he hoped.

"Get dressed." She ordered him curtly, unconcerned for his rough state and injuries. "Today I become Samtjamdar, and the bargain is fulfilled."

There were many questions, many things he could say, but seeing the fierce look in her eyes, he obeyed quickly. He did not wish to invoke her ire again so soon.

She snarled at his fumbling, jittery efforts to don his white wedding garments, scattered across the floor as they were. "Pathetic. Perhaps tonight I will warm my bed with real men instead, and you can watch. Maybe I will order them to ride you as well, if you dawdle."

He paled visibly, shocked at her crudity and savage turn of mind. He could judge now, however, that this was part of her humour. Or at least he hoped it was. He dressed more quickly and surely. The power she held over him remained strong, it seemed.


Entering the Throne room, the whole court was in weary attendance, many of them still recovering from the revelries of the night before. A score of musicians played joyous melodies, and the hall had been garlanded with many leaves and flowers, to bring good fortune and fertility on the couple. The symbolism seemed...misplaced, somehow, to Pannalal's practiced eye.

Traditionally, the Bride entered last, escorted by her family or retainers. But Rakh entered not far behind him, having changed swiftly back into her human form, and somehow accquired- possibly by magic- a new wedding dress for herself to wear. The garments seemed to draw and confuse the eye, her serpentine green dress flashing and twirling in the morning light as she strode confidently, once again barefoot, up the aisle to where the high priests waited.

"Asura. You seek the blessing of the Gods in this union?" said the High Priest of Ameretat, Goddess of Renewal and Immortality. It was he who would perform the marriage ceremony, and the animosity of the Gods and the Asura was well known.

Rakh simply smiled, managing to look threatening even in her human-form, a flash of tiny fangs as she curled her lips. She turned her head, and glared at Pannalal, waiting by the double-doors that led into the Throne Room. He realised he was now standing where she had been, when she had first announced her price for the bargain before the court.

With obvious reluctance, the Priest began chanting the ritual words, and summoned the bride- Pannalal blushed at this, and even the Priest had the good grace to look apologetic at the word choice- forward, to part from her family and become one with a greater one.

The feline woman watched with obvious amusement as Pannalal walked steadily, his eyes unwavering from the Jet Throne that loomed behind the Priest and the Rakhshasa.

When he was at her side, the Rakshasa put out her long, slender hand, a single finger resting lightly on the lips of the Priest, sshing him as he recited the ancient litanies.
"Cut past all of this. We need only swear the Oaths, and then this ceremony can be over." She grinned maliciously as the High Priest spluttered, turning red with fury.

"Pannalal! Jamdar of Chali! Do you swear..." the High Priest began.

Seeing Rakh about to interrupt once more, Pannalal quickly spoke, reciting the oaths of the Groom, not the Bride. He had let her emasculate him enough lately! He would not swear to tend hearth and home. His defiance seemed to amuse the tiger-eared woman.

"I swear to offer food and be helpful in every way. I will cherish you and provide welfare and happiness for you and...our children..." He rushed through the vows, finding them difficult to stomach. Looking into the eyes of the woman, he could find no spark of love. As beautiful as she was, he found her more and more disagreeable, and something deep inside him was growing. Even death might be preferable to continued dishonour, he felt. She had taken so much.  Surely he deserved something in return?

Rakh spoke with surprising clarity, easily and without hesitation reciting the Bride's Vows.
"I promise to love and cherish you for as long as I live. Your happiness is my happiness, and your sorrow is my sorrow. I will trust and honour you, and will strive to fulfil all your wishes." She had not even smirked at the last line. For a brief moment, he could almost believe in her sincerity, almost imagine he was truly marrying the beautiful woman she appeared to be, and not the Tiger within.

"You may now kiss the...you may now kiss." the High Priest spoke with obvious disgust.

Rakh pulled him in with passion, her lips locking around his. He felt her hot breath against him, and her animalistic scnet still rose, enticing him. She still smelled strongly both of her animal form and of the sex they had had the night before. He felt her hands grip him tightly, holding him close, her tongue probing deep into his mouth as she embraced him.

It was unexpectedly erotic, and the illusion of interest held, wavering, her eyes shimmering with some alien emotion. The moment stretched, but then, his lungs burning, he broke from her savage kiss, panting for breath. He turned, and saw the looks of the court, their cold, calculating stares. They could tell that the power balance in the city had shifted, and they were planning what to do about it.
She turned also, and frowned, before shoving Pannalal away, and confidently announcing to everyone. "I now wish to be crowned. Do you have the circlet ready, Priest?" Her tone was cold and demanding, and the illusion was shattered for Pannalal. So, it was only power she cared for.

The Priest looked as if he was about to explode. "The Coronation is a six-hour ceremony, that surely cannot be held so soon after the wedding-"

"Just put the damn thing on my head and utter the words of benediction." She growled.

With ill grace, he took the shimmering silver circlet from its pillow. The Rakh's eyes widened, but she said nothing. She knelt before the Throne, and motioned for the Priest to get on with it.

Wincing with pain, she recited the oaths of Kingship, even as the silver circlet, shoved none too gently on to her head, seemed to begin to steam. Pannalal watched this with interest. Did she bare some weakness to silver, he wondered?  He was no longer content merely to watch and let events happen. Having been shoved aside so she could grab his father's crown and throne, he knew now that the bargain made was no longer tolerable.

As she ascended to the throne, seating herself in the black seat of the rulers of Chali, surveying her new kingdom, Pannalal noted the court seemed stunned. The High Priest slunk off, muttering, unwilling to stay for the farce any longer. She ignored him, for she had not sworn any Vows to the Gods, and no one had prompted her to make ritual obeisance either. His presence here was now done.

Watching the creature sit in his father's throne with perfect poise, as if she had been born to Queen- no, Kingship- Pannalal felt a new emotion surging into his heart. Where once he had striven and suffered simply to feel love for his father, now his grief and fear were swept away by raging jealousy and hatred. She had stolen his legacy from him, and he would reclaim it.

"All hail Samtjamdar Rakh, First of her name, Lord of the City of Chali, Master of the Staggered Plains, and uh...Devourer of the Unjust, Defiler of the Weak, and Most Magnificient Daughter of the Daevas." The herald read, her latter three titles obviously added at Rakh's earlier insistence.

He clenched his fist, regarding the smug, regal woman in her shimmering green robes, her long tiger-striped hair spilling around her shoulders, a silver circlet resting painfully on her brow. Despite her obvious discomfort, she bore it well.  The vows of fealty that the Court now began to swear her seemed natural, unforced, her proper due.

He was going to have to find out a way to get rid of her.